What I cared for and had my eyes steadily on during the 11 February 2011 protests was not the fact that Mubarak stepped down, or rather was forced to step down, to be accurate. The moment, for me, was not a moment to start thinking of “what is next”, and maybe that is a mistake. It sure is. But when I think of this day, I don’t recall the political fallacies, those who sold the Revolution out, or even those who did not and are now either killed, jailed, or left the country for good. When I think of this day, two memories rush back to my mind. The first was of a young man, early 20s, wearing a black shirt and looking so thin and “weak”. He stood facing the square, watching fireworks as they started to be shot, one at a time, and then tens of fireworks shot together at once kissing the sky we believed we reached. There was a camera shooting the square, showing the young man’s back. This scene plays in my head in very slow motion. As soon as the podium announced that we shook…
